


Ripples in Time

by astxrwar



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4819145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astxrwar/pseuds/astxrwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A largely AU long-winded Reader Insert, Ripples in Time.</p><p>--</p><p>One choice. One change. One chance.<br/>The Doctor’s search for the Nestene Consciousness leads him to a modern art museum instead of a department store. And just like that, the course of history is inevitably, irrevocably altered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I'm going to be taking a break from my current work, "Troublesome", because I've been struggling with it and I think I need some distance. Sorry! But I've started something new to keep my writing skills up to par, so enjoy!
> 
> \--  
> As much as I love rose, I've had this idea brewing in my head for a while, so I figured it's time to get it out on paper. This is a Doctor x Sarcastic!Genius!reader story, so if that's not your thing, now's the time to run for your life :P If it is your thing, read on!

“That’s not art.”

“It is too.”

“No it isn’t. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Seriously? It looks like someone lined them up, took a paintball gun and just started shooting,” you said, gesturing at the mannequins piled up in the corridor. “It’s ridiculous.”

“You’re just too simple-minded to get it. That doesn’t mean it’s not art!”

“All right, all right,” You sighed, holding up your hands in defeat. You knew a losing battle when you saw one. “Agree to disagree.”

Chelsey Abbott, a girl who balanced precariously between being your tentative friend and being a complete pain in the arse, gave you a death-glare, and popped her bubble gum multiple times for emphasis. It took an inhuman amount of effort to not tell her she looked like a complete moron, and even more to keep all of your various appendages (middle fingers included) to yourself.

Instead, you just rolled your eyes.

Chelsey heaved a dramatic sigh, and placed her hands on her hips. “Whatever,” she snapped. “I’m leaving. I should’ve been home hours ago. You can finish the rest of these by yourself.” She gestured around the storage closet to the rest of the paint-spattered mannequins. Or, what you had taken to calling them—‘a waste of space’.  But that was besides the point, which was that you were going to be left alone for the next however many hours doing stupid menial work because everybody else was lazy. Life just couldn't be fair. Ever.

 

So you watched in grumpy, hate-fueled silence as Chelsey turned on her heel (a very impressive heel, at that—had to be at least three inches tall) and somehow managed not to trip as she click-clacked her way back through the hallways. The echoes of her heels on the tiles faded, and then you were left in silence.

So much for reliable employees.

You could probably go home. If you wanted to. And the museum would be closed tomorrow anyway—it was a Sunday, after all—so it’s not like you couldn’t just sneak back in and finish the job later.

But the idea of going home to your empty, barren apartment wasn’t exactly appealing. And it’s not like you had many friends to dial up. Not ones you’d actually want to spend your Saturday evening with, anyway. And coming back Sunday to deal with pointless modern art exhibits was about as un-fun an activity as you could possibly think of.

Might as well just stay. There was plenty left to do, not even counting moving the stupid mannequins.

You sighed, and looked at the nearest one, which was covered in a patchwork of blue, yellow and pink paint.

“You look utterly ridiculous, you know that?” You said conversationally, as you picked it up by the legs and maneuvered it through the door. “Stupid. It’s not even art, right? I mean, the mannequins are all made for you, all somebody’s got to do is take a bit of paint, and just splash it on there. It’s not that difficult, I mean—“ you set it down next to the others in the exhibit, and frowned. The overhead lights were harsh, bathing you in a blue-white fluorescent glow. “What am I doing? I’m talking to a mannequin.” You shook your head. “That’s—wow. A new low, even for me,” you mumbled, heading back to the storage closet.

When you got back, the closet was dark—the lights were motion-activated, you remembered.

You stepped inside. The lights flickered back on. The mannequins looked slightly (okay, more than slightly) creepy, now that you were alone.

A shiver ran down your spine.

It was awfully quiet, wasn’t it? Had it always been this quiet? You didn’t think so.

In the corner of your eye, you caught a flicker of movement, half-obscured by the boxes of paintings and the piles of broken sculptures.

“Hello?” You said. Your voice echoed strangely through the room. You narrowed your eyes, and peered at the crowds of mannequins. 

There it was again, on the other side of the room. You frowned. “Okay, that’s enough of that,” you said, and turned away, closing your eyes for a second. This was ridiculous. It had to be a trick of the light, or something, it’s not like mannequins can actually—

“Oh my god.”

The closest one—with a ridiculously bright yellow head—reached out its arm. You stared. The sound of your blood pounding in your head was suddenly very loud-- too loud--

There was a long pause.

And then—

 It moved again. Just one leg jutting out stiffly, then the other, and it took you a minute to realize exactly what it was doing—

It was walking towards you. You could feel the rational part of your brain just-- _shut down,_ grind to a stuttering, screeching halt as the plastic fingers uncurled, reaching for you, like some sort of halloween-haunted-house rip-off. It didn't make sense. Logically, this shouldn't be happening.

And just like that, almost as if it was a chain reaction, the others began to move.

But you--

You didn't.

All around the closet the mannequins were coming to life, getting closer and closer, and you couldn’t do anything. It was surreal. It was strange. It was—

It was amazing.

But also terrible, of course, because you were going to get killed by _mannequins,_ for god’s sake. 

And then it got worse. Or—better. Or _something._

Someone grabbed your hand.

“Run!”

And you did. You ran for your life, and it was terrifying, but it was also something else, something you couldn’t put your finger on. The feeling of your heart pounding from adrenaline, of being just so _aware_ of every single inch of your body, every single cell, every single _atom—_

It was exhilarating.

You ran.

You didn’t look at the person who grabbed your hand. You didn’t ask. You just ran, down corridor after corridor, skidding around corners, only pausing once to look behind you and see that the mannequins were close behind, picking up speed— _why is it that a lump of plastic can be in better shape than I am—_ did you say that out loud? You must’ve, because the stranger beside you laughed as you ran through two double doors and skidded to a stop. The stranger—a man in a leather jacket—slammed the doors closed just as the mannequins were about to burst through them, pushing his weight against them to keep them shut.

“Those doors don’t lock,” you realized, as the sound of the mannequins hammering on the wood grew louder.

The man smiled. “Well, they do now,” he said, and pulled out a—well, a _thing._ A thing that had a blue glowing tip and made a whrring sound when he pointed it at the door.

He backed away. You fully expected the mannequins to come bursting through.

“God, what a way to go,” you muttered. “Pasted all over the six o’clock news, _Local Girl Mobbed to Death by Rabid Mannequins.”_

But the door held.

You were silent for a moment, shocked. And then reality kicked in, and you asked the most obvious question you could, given the situation:

 “What _are_ those things?”

“Plastic. Living plastic creatures, controlled by a relay on the roof,” the man said, taking off down the hall towards the door to the fire escape, boots skidding against the linoleum, leaving those awful black marks--  _god,_ the night janitor was going to  _kill_ you, you thought dimly.

“No, that’s not—Plastic isn’t _alive._ That’s not possible,” you said, following him. Which, in retrospect, was not the wisest of moves.

“Try telling them that,” the man replied. “You lot, you’re so _rigid._ You think you know everything about everything, but all you do, is sit around, eat chips, go to work, and watch the telly.”

“Hey, I’d like to think I do some productive things sometimes, like, once a month or so--"

The man smiled. “Now there you go, already making progress,” he said, yanking open the heavy metal door at the end of the hallway and walking out onto the fire escape. Below you, the streets were crowded with cars and trucks, the sound of engines sputtering and horns honking echoing off of the buildings. You wondered what they thought they were seeing-- two people on the fire escape of an art museum for no reason whatsoever. 

Again, you followed him. The wind was strong, and pulled at your clothes. It was freezing. Eight o’ clock at night, and there you were, standing three floors up on a fire escape. You realized dimly that this entire thing was mostly—actually, _entirely—_ insane.

The man pulled out his little blinky blue tool thing (you still had no idea what it was, but it seemed to function like a master key), and pointed it at the fire escape door, locking it. Well, at least you assumed he was locking it. It was hard to tell. He was more than a little on the eccentric side, you’d noticed, and also quite possibly one-hundred-percent off of his rocker.

“So what do we do now?” you said. “We’re locked out of the building.”

“Well, I’m going to go up to the roof. That relay would be a great big problem, but—“ he paused, and fished around in the pockets of his leather jacket, pulling out something that looked suspiciously like a bomb. “I have this. So I’m going to go up there, and blow it up. And I might well die in the process, but don’t mind that.”

“That… sounds vaguely dangerous. And stupid. This is an art museum. You can’t just blow it up,” you said blankly. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around what exactly was going on, but you figured you were completely right in your guess that this man, this _stranger,_ was most definitely insane. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, though, you hadn’t quite figured out.

“Yes I can. And I will. Now, off you go. Shoo. Go on. And don’t tell anyone about this, or you’ll get them killed.” He gave you a gentle shove towards the stairs leading down the side of the building, as he turned the corner and started upwards. You stood there for a moment, stunned. A second later, he leaned down to look at you over the railing.

“I’m the Doctor, by the way,” he called. ”What’s your name?”

“[Name],” you replied.

The Doctor (what kind of name was that, anyway?) smiled. “Nice to meet you, [Name].” He waved the bomb around, looking vaguely maniacal in a mad-scientist sort of way. “Now, run for your life!”

You realized that for some ridiculously stupid reason, you trusted him. A little. And maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that he sort of saved your life, or maybe it was because up until that moment the most interesting thing in your life had been winning a lottery for a fucking  _toaster_ and the past five minutes had been infinitely better than anything you'd ever experienced,  _ever,_ but--

Either way—

You ran.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You manage to track down the Doctor. Danger awaits.

It was all over the news.

_“NEW MODERN ART MUSEUM GOES UP IN FLAMES: CAUSE STILL UNDETERMINED.”_

You had been fine the whole way home. It had almost felt surreal, like nothing had ever happened. Like you hadn’t been nearly killed by mannequins, and you weren’t technically an accomplice to arson. But when you saw it on the telly, you just got that feeling in your stomach—the kind of feeling you get when you’re on a rollercoaster, like your stomach is going to fly up into your throat—and that’s when you realized.

_I could have died._

So, in reaction, you did what most normal, sane human beings would do. You laughed. Because, honestly, while that—whatever it was—had been the most terrifying experience of your entire life (which wasn’t saying much), it had also been the most exciting. That wasn’t really saying much either, because ‘exciting’ for you usually meant cooking something that wasn’t a 5-minute heat-up meal or a hot pocket. But, still.

It was fun. You had loved every minute of it. And given the chance, you’d do it again.

 _Not bloody likely that I’ll get another chance, though, is it?_ You thought, and sighed. Come to think of it, you didn’t even know the Doctor’s real name, much less how to find him again.

In the kitchen, the phone rang.

You sighed, and got up off of your lumpy couch to go grab it.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank god, you’re all right.” That would be Charlie Hegner. Full-time best friend, part-time accomplice to doing questionable things that may or may not be illegal. Also, coincidentally, one of the few people who would actually care had you burned to death in the art museum.

Speaking of that, you probably should have called him. Whoops. You winced.

“Yeah, Charlie, I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t call. Rough day.” I was nearly murdered by some weird guy’s modern art project. But, you know, that’s totally normal.

Charlie sighed, relieved. “That’s okay, that’s fine. I’m glad you’re all right.” He paused. “Oh, and I was wondering, if you wanted to get together this weekend, maybe go down to the pub or something?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure, I suppose. Can we figure it out later, though? I’m kind of tired.” Okay, that was a lie. But only a teeny one. As if you could sleep after all that had happened. No, you needed answers.

“Oh. Oh, uh, yeah, that’s fine with me.”

“Okay.”

Cue awkward pause.

“So, bye, I guess?” He said.

“Yeah. See you.”

You set the phone down and glanced at the clock. You frowned. It was nearly eleven at night, and your mind was still whizzing about with all sorts of questions. So, obviously, there was only one solution.

Time to google.

The next three hours were spent parked in front of your computer, bathed in the cold blueish glow of the screen, as you typed in the word “doctor” as well as what felt like eighty million different names for whatever his glowing blue thing was called. Pen, key, master key, hell, even chopstick. Nothing worked. Though, the chopstick one did bring up a nice little Chinese restaurant up in Cardiff. But more to the point, you couldn’t find a single damn scrap of information about the mysterious “Doctor”.

You spent four hours in front of that damned computer screen. It felt like your eyes were going to pop out of your skull and start rolling around on the floor.

One last search.

Just one.

You hesitated, and then typed in, “Doctor” and, “glowing screwdriver”.

It was the first result that came up.

_“‘The Doctor’: A True Urban Legend”._

You clicked the link. At worst, it was a sleazy news article, and at best, maybe it would help. So you began to read.

_The Doctor._

_A classic (if somewhat obscure) urban legend, present in cultures all around the world. This myth (if it is indeed one), speaks of a man spotted repeatedly through history, whether in photographs or fables passed down from long ago.  Sightings of this mysterious being are nearly always precipitated by a catastrophe of grand proportions, which begs the question:_

_Who is this man? And more importantly, what does he want from us?_

The article went on to describe in great detail a multitude of different sightings: From carvings in Ancient Rome to sightings in Moscow, tales from Egypt and even from the northernmost point of Argentina. It was impossible. Completely and utterly impossible. You weren’t sure if you even believed any of it. But still, you kept reading.

_As you will notice, each sighting of the mysterious Doctor contains the same three basic elements: He is always referred to as “the Doctor”, he always carries his “sonic screwdriver” (though I haven’t quite figured out what that refers to), and he is always accompanied by tragedy, only to leave when the disaster has passed. Whether the Doctor is the cause of these disasters, remains unknown._

_That leaves two possibilities: Either the Doctor is purposely sabotaging the human race, or he is attempting to save it._

_Which, of course, leads me to wonder:_

_What, exactly, is he saving us from?_

You blinked, and frowned, scrolling down through the rest of the page. There was nothing more.

“No, no, no-- that can’t be it,” you whined. “That’s a cliffhanger. That’s not fair.”

With a disappointed sigh, you exited out of the browser window, and slumped in your seat. It was nearly three in the morning, and you were exhausted. It physically hurt to keep your eyes open at this point, and you swore you could hear your bed calling your name.

“Fine. Sleep wins.” You sighed, and got up from the chair, heading to your room.

“But I swear to god, I’m going to find you, Doctor,” you said from the doorway, looking up at the ceiling as if he could actually hear you. Who knows, maybe he could. “No matter what.”

 

\-----

 

The next day, you woke up at nine. Which was absolutely fantastic, because usually you had to get up at five to go in for work. So that was the good part of someone blowing up your job.

The bad part was that, obviously, you no longer had a job.

You figured you’d be all right for a week or so, what with the money you’d saved up. It was meant to be for a new telly, but now you figured there were more interesting things in life than that.

Like, for instance, finding the annoyingly elusive Doctor.

You had scoured the web a bit more after getting up, and hadn’t found much-- a few other articles, with mostly the same information as the first one, along with some guy’s poorly-designed website that actually included a few pictures. You recognized the Doctor’s distinctive leather jacket instantly. That was him, so at least you knew you were on the right track.

“All right,” you said to no one in particular, since your flat was empty except for yourself, “Step two.”

You pulled out a piece of notebook paper and a pen, and began scribbling down everything you knew about him. If the internet was going to be of no use, then you’d have to rely on plain old brainpower, which-- not to brag, or anything-- would probably be more than enough to get the job done.

So. Anyway. The list.

From what you remembered from the night before, the Doctor had been looking for a relay on the roof-- you figured it was probably the kind of relay that takes a transmitted signal and makes it louder, which means--

“Which means, there’s still a transmitter out there. Which means, he’s still out there. Which means--”

You hurried over to your computer, and googled what store had the most mannequins in the London area. Because you figured, well, if you were a crazy supervillain intent on projecting life into shop-window dummies, you’d want to put a relay where the most concentrated amount of mannequins were, so as to amass a giant army of plastic creatures and thus take over the world. Cue evil laughter, etcetera.

The mall.

“Oh, obviously, the mall,” you said, whacking yourself in the head, and then hurrying over to grab your coat and put on your shoes. You left your flat (doubling back to lock the door, because you had been in such a hurry it completely slipped your mind), and then grabbed a bus down to the mall.

It was relatively empty, because it was a Tuesday and everyone who’s job hadn’t been blown up by a madman was at work already. Finding the Doctor (if he was even there) should be relatively easy, you figured. If his jacket didn’t stand out, his ears sure would.

“Okay, that was a bit rude,” you mumbled to yourself, pulling out your phone from your pocket to check the time. “I figure I’ve got a good six hours to find him before he--”

“Hey-- watch it, would you?”

“Oh, sorry,” you said automatically. “My mistake, I was just looking for someone--”

You froze, for a split second. So did the man in front of you. The very familiar man in front of you. The very familiar man in front of you who also happened to be the Doctor.

“[Name]?”

“Doctor!”

“What are you doing here? You’re not plastic, are you?” He frowned, and tapped you on the forehead. ”Nope. All right, if that's all, I'll be going, now.”

And then the Doctor walked away.

“Hey-- wait! I was looking for you,” you said, running after him. “You have to tell me what happened. The other day.”

The Doctor laughed. “No I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do,” you said, walking a bit faster so that you could keep up with his longer strides. “You blew up my job. I deserve an explanation.”

“I said, go home.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re not my mum,”  you grumbled. The two of you were quickly approaching a side hallway, that led away from the main shopping center and towards what you assumed were the elevators. The Doctor, naturally, turned that corner, and you, naturally, followed him.

“Where are you going?” You said. “And what were those things? They were mannequins controlled by some kind of signal, right?”

At that, the Doctor actually acknowledged your existence, by giving you an odd look. “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t. I just-- you said there was a relay, and relays make transmitted signals louder, so there had to be some sort of signal. And a transmitter, too.”

He looked at you for a moment more, and then nodded approvingly. “That made sense. Good job.”

You grinned. “Thanks. So-- are you looking for the transmitter? Is that why you’re here?”

The two of you turned another corner and approached an elevator door. The floor had gone from white, clean tile to plain concrete. A storage area, you assumed. It made sense; that was where the mannequins had come to life in the art museum, for whatever reason.

“I _am_ looking for the transmitter,” the Doctor admitted, as he stepped into elevator and pressed the button for the basement floor. “But I need something first.”

“What?”

“A head.”

“You have a head.”

“A plastic head,” he amended. “See, an arm or a leg, that’s too simple. But a head is perfect-- I can trace where the signal is coming from.”

“So how are we going to get a plastic head?” you asked. “Capture one of the killer mannequins?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

The elevator dinged. The doors opened, to reveal a dark hallway. The Doctor grinned. “Exactly.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Doctor is involved, nothing is ever easy.

“You’re absolutely insane, you know that?”

The Doctor frowned. “You’re the one who followed me here. What sort of human does that? I can’t figure out what goes on inside your tiny little brains.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not human.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m not.” He studied your face. His eyes-- a bright, piercing blue-- were very intense, you noticed. “Do you believe me?”

“Honest answer?” You looked up at him. “I don’t know.”

The Doctor stared at you for a moment, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. “Fair enough. Now, are you going to help me catch an Auton, or are you going to whitter on all day?”

“Is that what they’re called, then?” you asked quietly, as you followed him out into the dark hallway. “Autons, that’s their proper name?”

“Yes,” the Doctor said. He gestured for you to be quiet. “Now, shut up.”

You frowned, but said nothing. Probably didn’t want the mannequins-- the Autons, you corrected yourself-- to know the two of you were there.

So you followed the Doctor through the dark hallway in silence, feeling your way along the wall until you came to a door at the end. You tested the handle-- locked. It figured. The Doctor pulled out his blue pen thing-- sonic screwdriver, yes, that-- and looked at you, his face lit up from the glow.

“Ready?” he whispered.

“No,” you whispered back.

“That’s the spirit.”

He grinned, and unlocked the door.

The hinges squealed as he pushed it open to reveal a room beyond--it wasn’t nearly as dark in there as it had been in the hallway. Four thin windows on the farthest wall shed some light over things, though not enough for you to make out much more than just black figures in the background, which could be anything-- Autons, filing cabinets, some other sort of strange monster that the Doctor hadn’t bothered to mention yet. It was silent, too, almost too silent. The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat and your breathing, both of which seemed far too loud.

“Don’t be thick, you understand?” The Doctor said suddenly, nearly scaring you half to death. “I can’t have you running off and getting yourself killed.”

“Got it,” you mumbled back. “Minimal stupidity.”

You started moving forward, farther into the room, careful to make as little noise as you could. It was slow and painstaking, seeing as you couldn’t make out anything that wasn’t directly in front of your face: your own body, the doctor, his hand when he motioned for you to stop and nearly hit you in the face.

“Hold on. Hush,” he muttered. “Listen.”

There was a noise, almost like a creak. Or a squeak. Same thing, really. The Doctor frowned, and then took your hand. “This way,” he said, turning to the left and tugging you along with him. “Stay behind me.”

The creaking got steadily louder as you moved forward. The Doctor stopped, again. He frowned, and reached out, feeling around for something solid in the darkness.

Nearly too fast for you to see, a plastic arm shot out and grabbed him by the neck. And-- well, you supposed there was a part of your brain that still hadn’t realized, hadn’t fully understood that this was real, until now. That part of you had just received a rather rude awakening.

You didn’t scream.

Your entire body flooded with emotions-- terror, shock, excitement, wonder-- and your heart threatened to beat out of your ribcage. There was no way in hell you’d ever get used to this, you realized dimly.

But still you acted. You did the first thing you could think of.

You grabbed the arm and  _pulled_ , as hard as you could-- there was a pop, and the hand around the Doctor’s neck went limp. You glanced down. There was the arm, completely dismembered. Torn off, right at the shoulder. You stared.

 _This isn’t real_ , you thought.  _This can’t be real._

The Doctor, because he was the Doctor and because he was absolutely,  _completely_   insane, didn’t look at all fazed-- by the dismemberment or by the fact that something had just attempted to strangle him. “Well done,” he said, only slightly breathless. “We still need the head. Best get on that.”

“Right…” you said distantly, still staring at the arm. “Right. Yeah.” You shook your head, trying frantically to snap yourself out of it-- whatever it was-- as the Auton lunged for you again.

This time, it was the Doctor who acted-- he caught the mannequin, and stumbled back a little by the weight of it. And then he grabbed ahold of the thing’s head with both hands, and pulled once, twice, three times, until the head came off with another pop. He looked at the head, and then looked at you, standing there, completely and utterly out of your depth, still holding onto that bloody plastic arm. And he smiled.

And you smiled, too.

You smiled because it-- the entire thing-- was insane and wonderful and so many other things that you couldn’t describe. You felt more alive standing in a shop's dark basement and fighting off plastic creatures than you ever did being an average human being.

And then the lights came on.

The room lit up. It took a moment-- just a single moment-- for your eyes to adjust, and then you looked around.   
Things were about to get a lot less fun, you realized.  
There were Autons all over the room.   
Fifty of them, maybe more, watching you and the Doctor with their perfectly blank faces. You were surrounded. Of course you were surrounded, because running in and just grabbing a mannequin's head without any sort of problem would be way too easy.  
The mannequins started to advance.

The Doctor took your hand in his.

“That’s… a lot of Autons,” you mumbled, not taking your eyes off of them.

The Doctor nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Should we…?”

“Run? Probably.”

So you ran.  
  
As fast as you could, ducking around hands and legs and bodies of mannequins that threw themselves in your way to stop you. You ran, still carrying that stupid plastic arm, the Doctor already searching his pockets for his screwdriver as you neared the door to the hallway. You didn’t realize, not at first, that you were laughing-- strangely, loudly,  _helplessly_  laughing-- and so was the Doctor, as he tightened his hold on your hand.

And as your head spun and spun and spun into an inevitable, inescapable moment of clarity, you realized--

_This is fantastic._

You ran through the door to the hallway, and neither you nor the Doctor stopped to close it-- you just kept going, kept running, all the way to the elevator, the Autons close behind you. And then you were there, and the Doctor was jabbing the button, trying to get the elevator to close before the mannequins could get inside. It wouldn’t close fast enough. They were getting closer. They were getting closer, the doors were almost, almostshut--

One of the mannequins stuck its head through. The doors protested, making a horrible scraping sound as they tried to slam closed. The Autons started hammering at the metal. You looked at the Doctor.

And then you remembered the plastic hand.

Now, maybe it was you all along, or maybe it was just the Doctor’s insanity rubbing off on you, but you had an idea. A horrible, stupid, idiotic, crazy idea.

You lifted the plastic arm up over your shoulder, and then you swung it as hard as you could.

It connected with the mannequin’s head with a loud, echoing crack, and the impact jarred through your entire arm. Now, the head didn’t just fall off-- it went ricocheting off the side of the elevator, and the stump of the mannequin’s neck fell back through the doors as they slammed shut.

The Doctor looked at you, as the head rolled to a stop at his feet.

You looked back.

And for the second time, you broke out in uncontrollable laughter.

 

\----

 

“We’re walking through the shops carrying heads.” You laughed. “And nobody’s noticed.”

The Doctor grinned. “That’s the thing about humans. You know what they do when they see something out of the ordinary? Nothing.”

“Except me.” You smiled up at him, tucking the head under your arm. The two of you passed through the front of the shops and into the parking lot without so much as a funny look.

“Except you,” The Doctor agreed. The two of you walked side by side, past the rows of cars lined up in the lot and over to the sidewalk.

“Doctor?” you asked, after a short pause. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He looked at you a little oddly, his eyebrow scrunching up, as if he was surprised that you’d hesitated.

“Who are you, really?”

“Ah.” He looked away, focusing intently on the sidewalk ahead of him. And then he smiled at you, Maybe you were imagining it, but it seemed almost too forced. “I told you, I’m the Doctor.”

“Well, yes, I know,” you said. “But-- what’s your name?”

The Doctor attempted to shrug nonchalantly. His shoulders were tense. “Names aren’t important.”

HIs expression had hardened. For all his light-hearted joking, he was awfully closed off. You felt a flash of pity.

“All right, just the Doctor, then?” Your voice was soft, nearly apologetic.

He nodded.

You lapsed into a shaky sort of silence as you crossed a busy street, headed for a quieter part of town.

“So…” you hedged, nudging the Doctor with your elbow. “Can you tell me what the living plastic things are about?” You frowned. “I mean, it makes no sense. If they’re all alive, how come the ones in the shops don’t just try to kill us?”The Doctor relaxed almost instantly, as the conversation steered away from him. “They’re after me, not you lot.” He looked at you. “You see, last night, in the museum, I was there, you wandered in. This morning, in the shop, I was tracking them down, they were tracking me down. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Right, you just needed a head, to find the transmitter thing. But-- who’s controlling them, then?” You asked.

He turned a corner, onto a small side street lined on each side with nearly identical houses. It wasn’t anywhere you recognized. “An alien. A hive mind, more like,” The Doctor said, after a moment. He looked at you. “You don’t think I’m mad?”

You laughed. “I do think you’re mad. Completely mad. But I don’t think you’re lying.”

He gave you a small smile, and then he looked away. “They want to overthrow the human race, you know. Destroy you all.” He looked down at the disembodied head he had tucked under his arm, and then back at you. “And I’m going to stop them.”

“Just you?”

He crossed an empty street and walked into a park. You followed him, of course, because he was brilliant and amazing and interesting, and hell as if you’d just let him leave you in the dust again. Not going to happen.

The Doctor stopped in front of a blue box next to a bench. A police box, you realized. From the nineteen-somethings. They used to have them on street corners.

“You could come with me, if you’d like,” he said, leaning on the box with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “You’re handy in a pinch, considering.”

“Considering that I’m human?” you said, smiling.

“Yes.” The Doctor chuckled, and fished around in his pockets. He pulled out a key, and unlocked the door to the police box, pushing it open. The hinges creaked. Somehow, you expected they would. “So… what do you say?”

“How are we going to save the world from a police box?”

“Just trust me.” He smiled, and held out his hand.

You took it without hesitating. Without even thinking.

The Doctor pulled you into his box.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

“It’s bigger on the inside.”

“Yes, it is.”

You stared. Your mouth might have dropped open. Or it might not have. You didn’t know. You didn’t  _care._

Every inch of the room—the arched ceiling, the crazy crisscrossed pattern of support beams, the lights embedded in the walls—it was impossible. Completely, and utterly impossible. It broke every law of mathematics, every law of science just by existing.

The Doctor stood by what looked like to be a control panel wrapped around a blue pillar—you walked over to it, brushed your fingers across the surface.  There was chipped paint, scratch marks, stains from who knows what— it was lived-in. It was real. And it was terrifying.

You looked towards the man in front of you.

The Doctor—while you were standing about being completely useless—was already hooking one of the plastic heads up to what looked like a bunch of electrodes on the center control console.

Oh, right.

Saving the world from a horde of living plastic. Defeating the big bad alien. Not staring off into space. Of course.

You cleared your throat. It sounded louder than you had expected. It sounded—off. You ignored it.

 The Doctor looked at you.

“So,” you managed. “Skipping the part where I’m stunned speechless by your box-thing—“

“Hold on,” the Doctor interrupted, setting the head down on the console. “I quite like that bit.” He stepped away from the control panels, kicking a stray cable away from his feet and leaning on one of the railings that jutted out of the floor, looking at you. “It’s called the TARDIS, this thing,” he said, as if this were just an average day, which for him it probably was, “T-A-R-D-I-S, stands for “Time and Relative Dimension In Space.”

You nodded slowly, and tried your best to pretend your head wasn’t spinning, your thoughts rushing around at a million miles an hour. This was fine. This was  _completely_  fine. “Right. Okay.” A beat passed, and then you frowned. “Wait. No. That makes no sense.”

“What?”

“You can’t call something ‘The Time And Relative Dimension In Space.’ It’s not grammatically correct.”

The Doctor paused for a moment, frowned, and then looked at you, mildly affronted. “Oh, sure, why don’t we just take all the fun out of things,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ve got a magic box that’s bigger on the inside and you’re worried about sentence structure.” He turned back to the console. “You humans, with your syntax and grammar rules and all that dancing. Stupid language, English.”

You were suddenly reminded very strongly of a petulant child.

 “Sorry. Continue,” you said, trying your best to sound apologetic.

The Doctor shrugged. “Actually, that’s about it.” He looked at you over his shoulder. “Any questions?”

“Yeah.” You looked around, again, at the sheer size of the room. “How did you get the inside to fit?”

The Doctor opened his mouth as if he were going to answer, and then abruptly closed it again. He smiled. “Magic.”

“ _Sure._  But, really?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” The Doctor circled around the other side of the TARDIS control console. “I’ll explain it when you’re older,” he said, grinning, patting you on the shoulder.

You rolled your eyes. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“I know I’m hilarious.”

“For an alien.”

“For an alien,” he admitted, as he flipped different switches and pressed buttons, even taking a moment to spin something that looked suspiciously like a cheap plastic pinwheel duct-taped to the console. “Speaking of, I suppose you believe that now, then?”

“It’s not like I have a choice, though, is it?” You said, leaning against one of the supporting beams of the TARDIS. “I’m inside something that should—for all mathematical and scientific reasoning—not exist.” It made your head hurt. You closed your eyes, and pinched the bridge of your nose. “And I still get bloody dizzy just thinking about it.”

“Just a culture shock. Happens to the best of us.”

“Oh,  _right.”_

The Doctor turned back to where the head was hooked up to the console. “Now, that’s enough carrying on for one night. We’ve got a transmitter to find. And if I’ve picked up on the signal, I should just have to—“

He pulled down a lever, and the whole room lurched.

“What the hell was that?” You asked, as the blue column in the center started pulsing with light, filling the air with a sound almost like a vacuum.

The Doctor let go of the lever, and the sound stopped. He didn’t answer your question, just ran right out the door. And you followed him, because by now you were in far too deep to do anything else.

You were in a parking lot. Or, more accurately, you were in the remains of a parking lot—the pavement was cracked and crumbling, overgrown with weeds. The TARDIS sat nestled between a chain-link fence and the wall of a building, far enough out of sight that it wouldn’t catch the eye of passerby.

The whole thing had moved. You would be surprised, but you thought you might’ve actually lost that ability by now.

“It moved,” you said, your brow furrowing. “Was that the vacuum sound, then, opening up a portal, a wormhole or something?”

The Doctor, who had been furiously pacing across the broken pavement, paused to look at you. “Sort of. You know, you’re very good at this. It’s a shame. Takes all the fun out of things.”

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment.”

“Don’t bother,” he said faintly. “Use all that energy for something else. We need to find that transmitter.” The Doctor sighed. “And I was  _so close._ ”

“Why didn’t it work, though?” You asked, looking up at him.

He shrugged. “No idea. Not going to bother figuring it out, though. All the variables—it’ll take too long.”

You nodded, craning your head to try and see the road, spot a familiar landmark while the Doctor rambled on. Maybe if you could find out where the two of you had ended up, it would help. Though, you had no idea how. But it made you feel better to be doing something.

“—it just doesn’t make sense, how you could hide something that big in a city this small—“

There was a sign. And a couple shops. A Japanese place, a coffee parlor. A sign, tucked away in the corner that you couldn’t quite make out.

“What does the transmitter look like?” you asked absently, trying to read what the sign said. You couldn’t see, so you took a couple steps forward.

“Like a transmitter. Round, and massive.”

You could read the letters. Jubilee Gardens. That was on Queen’s Walk, right? By the river.

“It’d have to be right slap bang in the middle of London. Must be completely invisible—“

“Shut up,” you said, gesturing at him. “Shut up a second.”

The Doctor looked down at you. “What?”

Queen’s Walk was across the bridge. On the South Bank, and right next to the London Eye.

The London Eye, which was round, massive, and right slap bang in the middle of the city.

“Doctor, I know where we are.” You looked at him. “Queen’s Walk. By the London Eye, the Ferris Wheel!”

“All right,” he frowned, scanned the skyline—it was dark, and the top of the Ferris Wheel shone out like a beacon over the tops of the buildings. “What about it?”

“It’s huge and round and right in the middle of the city,” you said, grinning. “The signal wasn’t wrong. We just weren’t looking—the transmitter, it’s the London Eye!”

There was a split second of confusion on the Doctor’s face. And then his eyes lit up with understanding. He paused, for a moment, looked at you and then looked at the London Eye in the distance. And then he smiled.

He held out his hand.

You took it.

And then, of course, you started running.

Out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk, the wind tugging at your hair and clothes, the Doctor’s jacket flapping out behind him like a cape. You felt laughter bubbling up in your chest, as the two of you snuck in through the back gate to the Eye.

“Imagine,” he said, as he slowed to a stop, “Every single plastic thing, come to life.”

“That’s—bad. I think that’s probably bad,” you replied, out of breath. “How are we going to stop it?”

The Doctor grinned, and pulled a blue vial from his jacket pocket. He tapped it with his finger, and shook it experimentally, the liquid inside sloshing back and forth. “Antiplastic.”

“Antiplastic?”

“Antiplastic!” He noticed how your eyebrows raised the way they did before you asked a question, and stopped you with a gesture. “Best not. We’ve got to hurry.”

You nodded, albeit hesitantly. “Okay. But where is this thing?”

“We’ve found the transmitter. The Consciousness must be somewhere underneath.”

“The what?”

“The Nestene Consciousness,” he said. “That’s what it’s called.”

You snorted, your nose scrunching up. “’Nestene’. What kind of name is that?”

The Doctor looked at you, and raised an eyebrow, arms folded. “Well, what kind of name is (Name)?”

“Oh. Point taken.”

But he was no longer listening. He’d ran over to a rusty railing to your right, and as you watched, he jumped over it and landed on the ground five feet below with relative ease, next to a hatch in the concrete that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Well, come on, don’t just stand there,” he said impatiently, beckoning with his hand.

You glanced down at the drop, and then shrugged, and jumped over, too. Quicker than taking the stairs, at least.

The Doctor had grabbed onto the hatch and pulled, lifting the lid up to reveal a ladder descending into a room bathed in a strange reddish glow. He dusted off his hands on his pants, and then gestured to the ladder.

“After you.”

You leaned forward, squinting down the hatch, trying to make out anything besides that reddish glow and billows of white steam. “Oh, no,” you said, shaking your head, “There will be none of that. You go first.”

He looked at the hatch, and back to you. He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

And then the Doctor climbed down the ladder.

Seeing no other choice, you followed him. Down the ladder, and through a door.

The room you found yourself in—if you could call it that—was hot. Blisteringly hot, to the point where your shirt began to stick to your skin with sweat. It was hard to breathe. Everything was tinted red, and there were fires burning, chains hanging from the ceiling—like a ritual room, or something, and then there was this platform that led out into midair, and below that—

“That’s the Nestene Consciousness. In the vat,” the Doctor murmured from beside you.

You stared.

The—the  _thing_ in the vat—it was huge, and orange, bubbling up over the edges, falling in on itself, almost  _pulsing._ Maybe you were imagining things, but if you looked hard enough you swore you could see a  _face,_ a human face, straining up towards you.

You swallowed noisily. “Okay.” Your voice sounded small. “Okay, well, what now?”

“Now, I talk to it,” the Doctor said, starting down the series of staircases. “I’ve got to give it a chance.”

You nodded.

He leaned over a railing and looked at the seething vat. “I seek audience with the Nestene Consciousness under peaceful contract according to convention 15 of the Shadow Proclamation,” he said. His voice was calm, and steady.

The Consciousness growled. A bead of warm sweat ran down the back of your neck.

“Thank you,” The Doctor said. “If I might be able to approach…?”

It growled again, louder this time. You flinched, and took a tentative half-step forwards, trying to get a better look at the creature. You were terrified. Absolutely, completely fucking terrified, but  _still—_ that thing, whatever it was, it was alien. It was intelligent, and it wasn’t human.

As they say, curiosity killed the cat.

 “I can’t understand it,” you whispered, but the Doctor motioned quickly for you to stop talking. Your mouth snapped shut.

He started down the staircase to the platform, and looked down at the Consciousness boiling and writhing below. “Am I addressing the Consciousness?”

It gurgled, and an air bubble popped inside of it with a sound that echoed around the room like a gunshot.

“Thank you,” the Doctor said. “Now, if I might observe, you infiltrated this civilization by means of warp shunt technology. So, may I suggest— with the greatest respect— that you  _shunt off_?”

The vat pulsed, the surface stretching and molding into a semblance of a face that reared up at the Doctor. You stumbled back a step. He didn’t flinch.

“Oh, don't give me that,” he snapped. “It's an invasion, plain and simple. Don't talk about constitutional rights.”

The Consciousness roared.

“ _I am talking!_ ”

His back was towards you. You couldn’t see his face.

You didn’t have to.

You could see how he squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back, and suddenly, he radiated power. Suddenly, your breath caught in your throat as you watched the Consciousness flinch back into the vat and fall silent; suddenly, you saw the Doctor for what he really was.

He was dangerous. He was powerful. He was fucking  _insane._

And there was a part of you—some small, never-used corner of your brain that was screaming at you to run, run fast, run far, just—  _run._ That part of you was terrified.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t move, even if you wanted to.

The Doctor was speaking again.

“This planet is just starting,” he said. “These—these  _stupid_  little people have only just learnt how to walk. But they're capable of  _so much more_. I'm asking you on their behalf. Please, just go.”

There was a flash of movement. A flash of movement that you recognized. One that you’d seen twice already—at the museum, and at the shops. You ran forward a couple steps, leaned over the railing—you couldn’t reach him in time, but maybe you could warn him—

“Doctor!”

The Auton grabbed hold of his arms.

The other one—you hadn’t noticed that one, not that it mattered now—shoved its hand into his pocket, and pulled out the blue vial of antiplastic, held it up until the red light of the Consciousness gleamed off the glass.

The Doctor didn’t look powerful anymore. He looked afraid.

The creature in the vat roared.

“That was just insurance,” he said, struggling against the Auton. “I wasn't going to use it. I was not attacking you—I'm here to help. I'm not your enemy, I swear, I'm not.”

The Consciousness strained up out of the vat and growled.

“What?”

Behind you, there was a rumble and the grinding sound of stone moving. A door slid open. You turned around to look.

It was the TARDIS.

They’d gotten the TARDIS.

You realized, distantly, that you were both going to die. That was unfortunate.

“No,” the Doctor said, glancing at the ship and then looking back at the Consciousness. “Oh, no. Honestly, no. Yes— that's my ship.”

It snarled.

The Doctor turned pale. “That's not true,” he said, desperately. His voice was raw. “I should know, I was there! I fought in the war—It wasn't my fault. I couldn't save your world, I couldn't save any of them!”

“Doctor,” you said—your voice was small and hoarse. “Doctor!”

He looked at you. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry—The Nestene, it’s identified the TARDIS as superior technology. It’s starting the invasion—get out, (Name), get out, now!”

You hesitated. “But what about you?”

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine, I promise. The TARDIS, (Name)—you’ll be safe in there. Go, now!”

You looked at him, one last time, through the smoke and the steam and the heat, and you looked at tthe Nestene Consciousness as it pulsed and strained and roared, and you looked as the Autons dragged the Doctor closer and closer to the edge.

And then you turned to the TARDIS. You put your hand on the door handle.

You pushed it open, and stumbled through.

The TARDIS was cool, almost cold, and the second the door shut behind you, you collapsed against the curved wall, gasping. You stood there, leaning against one of the lights for god knows how long, and then you realized—you  _knew--_ you had to do something.

You closed your eyes. You took a deep breath.

And then you looked around.

The TARDIS was barren. There was nothing there that wasn’t a part of the machine, nothing that you could use—you could probably get one of the lights out of the fixture, but that would take too long, and you didn’t have much time.

Your palms were sweaty. You wiped them on your pants, sighed, looked down—

The head.

“Oh my god, the head,” you mumbled.

The head you’d knocked off with the mannequin’s arm. The head you had carried, tucked under your arm, all the way to the TARDIS. The head you hadn’t used to trace the signal.

You picked it up. You stared at it for a moment. Your hand brushed the door to the TARDIS, and before you lost your nerve, you pushed it open and slipped back outside.

The Autons had nearly gotten the Doctor to the edge of the platform. In the vat, the Consciousness was surging and growling and pulsing with a bright blue energy. It was transmitting the signal. The end of the world.

You stood there for a split second, and then you nodded resolutely, and lifted up the head. The world was ending. You weren’t going to just sit there and take it.

“Come on, just a little bit of luck,” you whispered.

And in what could either be the most brilliant or the most ridiculous idea ever known to man (or both), you threw the head as hard as you could.

It hit the second Auton’s wrist.

The vial of antiplastic flew up into the air. It turned, end over end, the liquid inside splashing back and forth, the red light glinting off the glass as it fell, down and down and down—

The glass cracked.

In the vat, the creature screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

“You threw a _head_ at it.”

“Yes, I threw a head at it! Is that a problem?”

“No. Of course not. It’s just—a _head_? _Really?_ ”

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, folding your arms, as the sound of the TARDIS died out.

You pushed open the doors—you were back in the park near the shops. The world was once again safe, with only minimal casualties, the Doctor was fine, and you were (mostly) fine, if fine meant ‘utterly and completely frazzled and desperately in need of a nap’. You yawned, and promptly sat down on a bench.

“A head,” the Doctor chuckled under his breath, as he leaned against the doorway. You frowned.

 “That head saved your life, you know. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for that head.”

He looked down at the ground and scuffed his feet, shifting around. He folded his arms, and glanced up at you. “Actually, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.” He gave you a small smile. “So, thank you.”

You laughed. “You’re welcome. And thank you, for saving the world.”

He nodded, and grinned. “Right, that. Nestene Consciousness—easy.”

“Sure.”

The two of you lapsed into a strange sort of silence for a moment. You studied your shoes intently, as the Doctor walked over and sat down on the bench next to you.

“Doctor?” you said quietly, as you tilted your head back to stare at the sky, dotted with stars.

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do now?”

The Doctor laughed softly. “Go back to traveling, I suppose.” He smiled. “It’s… amazing, out there, you know. It’s fantastic. It’s beautiful. There are so many things that you lot, stuck here, in this tiny little city on this tiny little world, have never even imagined.”

The wind blew harder, tugging at your hair. You shivered, and rubbed your hands together. “Will we ever get to see all of that?” you asked.

“Yes. But not in your lifetime.”

You smiled, a little sadly. “I think I knew that. But I’d hoped.”

He glanced at you, and cleared his throat. “You could always come with me. In the TARDIS, I mean.”

You looked at him. And then you blinked. It took a moment to sink in. “Really?” you blurted out. “But—Where would we go?”

He grinned. “Anywhere.”

You glanced back up at the sky. Maybe it was just your imagination, but the stars seemed brighter, somehow. Closer.

A smile spread across your face. “I’d love to.”

The Doctor’s grin got wider. He took one of your hands in his own, and squeezed it.

“Fantastic.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Hey, Charlie? Yeah, sorry, I was just calling to say I can’t go down to the pub with you—something came up. I’m—well, travelling. A once in a lifetime opportunity kind of thing. Call me back, leave a message when you get this. And don’t worry about me, please, I’ll be fine. Bye.”

You hung up your cell phone, shoved it back into your pants pocket, and then leaned on the console and gave the Doctor a smile. “That’s set.”

“Good.” The Doctor nodded. He glanced down at the pile of duffel bags you’d dropped on the floor by your feet, and frowned. “Oi, what’s that all for?”

“Well—I thought I’d need clothes and pajamas and soap and, you know, food. I don’t know, what do I know about space travel?”

The Doctor slowly shook his head, and then turned back to the console. “Oh, you humans,” he mused, a smile playing at his lips. “Awful touchy creatures. All that sleeping and eating and… stuff.”

You rolled your eyes. “ _Right._ ”

He grinned, and fiddled idly with the TARDIS controls. “So! Where would you like to go?”

It was unthinkable. Impossible. Distantly, you felt the corners of your mouth tugging up into a smile, as you rested your palms against the console. Every time you’d stared out at the stars—every time you’d been stunned by just how far away they all were—it didn’t matter anymore. You were here, now, and you could go anywhere.

You could go anywhere—but where could you go? It’s not like you could name anything that wasn’t in your solar system.

“I don’t know,” you said, giggling. “I honestly have no idea. An alien planet. Anywhere. Someplace away from Earth.”

“Right, it’s up to me, then,” the Doctor said, adopting a businesslike expression, as he flipped down two switches and yanked a lever. “How about—Oh, I know. Planet 066714. Perfect for a first trip.” He looked at you, and grinned. “Better hold on.”

“Wait, what do you—“

“And… off we go!”

The TARDIS shuddered, and the engine in the center roared to life, the blue column pulsing. You thought you were used to traveling in this thing by now, but this was—different. The entire room lurched. It _spun._ You tried to stay standing, but it was like nothing you’d ever felt before—your center of balance was gone, completely gone, and you fell to the grated floor, barely bracing your fall with your palms. You gasped.

 

And then it stopped.

The Doctor walked over to you briskly, and held out his hand. You shook your head, looked up at him, and then took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“You all right?” he asked.

Arms, check. Legs, check. All ten fingers, all ten toes. Good. You nodded. “I think so.”

“Not to worry, it’s your first go—bit of time-sickness, happens to all of us. Not to mention I didn’t quite stick the landing like I’d hoped—“

It took a moment for you to register what he had said.

“ _Time-_ sickness?” you managed. “You mean—we traveled through time?”

He frowned. “Oh. Right. Forgot to mention that bit. Yes, we did. Can’t just go to any old planet in your time, can I? You’d die of shock. Too alien.”

“So, what? Where are we? What’s—“ you glanced at the door, and then back at the Doctor. A giddy feeling rose up in your chest. “What’s out there?”

“How about you go and find out?” The Doctor said, gesturing towards the door. “Be careful. I might’ve landed in the water.”

You rushed towards the door, and paused for a second with your hand resting on the wood. You stared at the chipped blue paint, the scuff marks and scrapes.

You took a deep breath, and then pushed it open.

You gasped.

The TARDIS had landed on what looked like a tropical beach.

It was perfect, utterly perfect, the pink sky and the twin suns and the turquoise water at your feet, and it was just so _alien,_ every inch of it. There were trees, in the distance—or at least you thought they were trees—that looked a bit like huge pineapples. You shaded your eyes to cover them from the glare of the suns. You took a deep breath. The air was warm, and humid, and it smelled fresh, sweet, _new._ You stared, at everything, your head spinning. It was unthinkable. Impossible.

A wave lapped up onto the shore. Dimly, you realized your shoes were getting soaked.

“You landed in the water.” That was your voice, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken.

“I noticed that, thanks,” The Doctor replied, as he slid through the TARDIS doors, and closed them behind him. “Hm. This is a bit different than last time,” he muttered to himself. “Something’s changed. But—nevermind that. We’ve got ourselves a planet to explore.”

“Right,” you mumbled. “An… _alien…_ planet.” You took a deep breath. “Where do we start?”

“Well, I’d start by getting out of the water,” the Doctor said reasonably. And then he leaned down, dipped a finger in it, and tasted it. “Oh! Not just any water, either. _Heavy_ water. Don’t drink that, mind you. Bad for humans.”

“What’s heavy water?” you asked, as you walked forward, hesitating, climbing up on the shore and looking around.

“It’s water, with heavy hydrogen atoms. That’s why the water is so blue. Look it up,” he said, as he followed behind you.

“Okay. Sure,” you nodded. “And the sky?”

The Doctor shrugged. “It’s neon. Neon gas. Your atmosphere, on Earth, it’s made up of mostly nitrogen, with some oxygen thrown in, that’s why it’s blue. Here, it’s neon instead. Scatters light, makes it pink.”

“Is it poisonous?”

“You don’t think I would’ve told you already if it was?”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

You walked up the beach, towards where the sandy shore turned to what you assumed was shrubbery, trailing your fingertips across the rough bark of a gnarled, twisted tree trunk. Overhead, a flock of what looked like a cross between a bat and a bird took off into the air. You grinned, and watched them for a moment, and then you turned and looked around the landscape, shielding your eyes with one hand from the glare of the suns. The beach formed a curve around a small bay, but in the distance, all the way at the end, there was something glimmering in the sunlight, something you couldn’t quite make out. “Can you see that? Over there, what is it?” you asked, tugging at the Doctor’s sleeve to get his attention.

“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “Blimey. Why don’t you go and find out?”

“You’re a great help, you are,” you grumbled, as you started walking towards it. You paused, and glanced over your shoulder at him. “Come on, I’m not going all the way across the beach alone. There could be aliens. Bad aliens, I mean.”

“All right, then,” the Doctor said, as he caught up to you and grabbed your hand.

And then, because he was the Doctor and because he was insufferably strange and completely unable to be even the slightest bit slow for even a millisecond, he started running.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I told you that was a bad idea. Now I’ve got sand in my shoes,” you complained, as you and the Doctor continued to move at a _reasonable pace_ towards the glimmer, which had turned out to be a giant blueish sphere.

“Oh, quit your whining,” the Doctor said. “You’re on an alien planet. There’s no time for that.” He peered ahead at the globe—which seemed even bigger now that you were close to it—and the pointed at a darker spot on the side. “There’s a door. Let’s try it,” he said.

The two of you reached the end of the beach, and the sand beneath your feet turned to something that resembled asphalt, except it was almost _spongy,_ and sunk down beneath your feet. It was—disconcerting. You ignored it.

Ahead of you, the doctor walked up to the door. It was made of frosted glass or crystal of some sort, the silver door handle adorned with a symbol you didn’t recognize. You couldn’t see through it. There was nothing on the door or the sphere itself that offered even the slightest clue as to what lay beyond.

The Doctor turned the handle, and opened the door. He peeked around the corner, and then gestured for you to follow him.

You stepped inside.

It was a room. Obviously. A dining room, or a ball room, or both. The curved walls were painted a delicate sky blue, lined at the bottom with plain white trim. The very top of the dome was made of perfectly clear glass, beneath which the same symbol that was on the door handle was replicated in metal, causing a shadow of the seal to appear on the floor in the center of the room. You walked forward cautiously, reaching out to drag your fingertips across a small dining table that looked to be made of some sort of dark wood.

“What is this place?” you said. You found yourself whispering, for no real reason. It just seemed appropriate.

“It _was_ Human Colony 106993, last time I checked.” The Doctor shrugged. “But, what do I know. Might’ve changed hands, been invaded, anything.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Oh—excuse me!” A low-pitched voice said from behind you. “Excuse me, visitors aren’t allowed here until it opens officially. I’m terribly sorry, but you’ll have to leave.”

You started, and spun around, to see—

Well—

An alien.

Plain and simple. An alien. It was mostly humanoid, the only differences were that her—his?—nose was just twin slits, almost like a snake, and their hair seemed to actually be a part of their body. And it moved. Which was mildly terrifying. But also—well—brilliant.

Not to mention she was green.

You took a deep breath. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, so loud you swore someone had to be able to hear it.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was completely calm.

“Oh, sorry, sorry. Must’ve gotten lost, then,” he said cheerfully. “Speaking of—where are we, exactly?”

The alien—which you guessed was probably a girl—eyed the both of you suspiciously. “This is the Tulvirax Gardens resort.”

Neither you nor the Doctor showed any signs of recognition.

“In the Andromeda Galaxy? Planet Tulvirax? It’s the highest-rated resort in the Tri-Galactic Empire.” She looked wary.

The Doctor, who appeared blissfully unaware, nodded, and smiled. “Ah. All right, then.”

She frowned, and glanced at you, before looking back to the Doctor. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask to see your resort passes. We have a zero tolerance policy for stowaways on any of our cruise liners.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you opened your mouth to say something, make up an excuse, anything, because the one thing you most definitely knew was that neither you nor the Doctor had any such pass. You were going to get branded a criminal on your first outer space trip. Great.

“Oh, I have it right here,” the Doctor said, not the least bit fazed. He pulled out a worn leather wallet and flipped it open, handing it over to the girl. “See? The Doctor plus one. This is (Name). She’s my plus one.”

You smiled shakily. The girl peered closely at the pass, like she suspected it was a forgery or something (which you assumed it probably was) and then nodded, apparently satisfied. “All right. I’ll escort the two of you back to the main room. And for future notice, please pay more attention to your surroundings, and try to stay within the areas that are open to tourists.”

She handed the wallet back to the Doctor. You glanced at the piece of paper tucked inside of it.

It was blank.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and the Doctor explore Tulvirax Gardens, and naturally, get into trouble.

“The paper, it’s slightly psychic,” the Doctor explained quietly. “Shows them whatever I want them to see.”

The two of you walked side by side down a long hallway, a little ways behind the alien girl (who had introduced herself as S’rana).

“Oh,” you said dumbly. “Right. Of course.”

The Doctor didn’t explain it any further—not that you expected him to—he just kept walking.

Ahead, S’rana had stopped at a large metal door, again engraved with the same symbol you kept seeing everywhere. The resort’s logo, probably. You dismissed it. S’rana pulled the handle, and the door opened with a hiss like the sound of air decompressing.

“Do watch out for the cleansers,” she said. She gave you a polite smile. It looked fake.  “They give some of the guests a bit of a shock, but it’s protocol—we here at Tulvirax Resorts offer hospitality to thousands of different species, some of which are particularly sensitive to alien diseases.”

The Doctor smiled. “Oh, of course,” he said, nodding sagely. He grinned down at you, and offered you his arm. You took it.

You stepped into the doorway.

Instantly, twin pillars of blinding blue light shot down from the ceiling, and then you couldn’t see. More importantly, you couldn’t _move._ You were trapped.

The Doctor unlinked his arm from yours and took your hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Right, so what’s a ‘cleanser’?” You whispered.

The Doctor grinned. “No idea,” he said cheerfully. “And don’t look so terrified.”

“You can see?”

“’Course I can. Light’s too bright for you humans, but not for me,” he answered. “Everything’s going to be fine, quit your worrying.”

You swallowed uneasily. Right. Everything was going to be fine. Even though the Doctor’s definition of fine was less along the lines of “actually fine” and more along the lines of “not dead”, which wasn’t particularly comforting.

You were trapped in a doorway and about to be  _cleansed—_ and whatever that meant, it sounded vaguely threatening—but everything was going to be completely, one-hundred-percent fine.

Above you, there was a robotic whirring sound, sort of like the noise your old k-cup coffee maker made.

And then, you were promptly doused in something that felt like lukewarm jello, and things became slightly less fine.

“Oh, this is gross,” you said, as the gel sort of  _oozed_ down over your body. It smelled, almost overwhelmingly, of mint. A great big glob of it slid down your cheek, and you snapped your mouth shut. There was no way in hell you were swallowing any of that stuff.

 “Just a few more seconds, Miss, and then the vacuums will clean you right up.” S’rana’s apologetic voice sounded strangely distorted, almost garbled. You managed to nod.

The vacuums switched on soon after that, to your immense relief—it was an odd feeling, sort of like a reverse-hairdryer. All the gel was sucked right off of you, leaving you feeling lighter and sort of raw, as if you’d been scrubbed down by a pumice stone. There was a crackling sound, and the bright blue light faded. You opened your eyes, and hesitantly stepped through the doorway into the next room.

The Doctor let go of your hand, and straightened out his leather jacket. He studied you for a moment, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling up. “Look at you, you’re all pink!” he said, grinning.

You smiled, and touched your cheek gently. It didn’t hurt, but it itched a little. “I think that stuff took off a whole layer of skin. I feel all new, and shiny. Minty fresh.” You grinned.

Behind you, S’rana walked through the doorway, waiting patiently for the cleansers and the vacuums to finish. She stepped forward, and took a moment to smoothen out her skirt.

“Right then,” she said primly. “Now that we’ve covered that, I’ll have you come this way, please.”

S’rana started down another hallway, her hair twisting and curling, looking almost agitated as it settled back around her head. You blinked. Her hair was a part of her body. Right. You forgot about that.

The three of you passed two other aliens—with long, narrow faces and grayish, papery skin, they looked almost like ghosts. Each of them had that same seal pinned to their uniforms. They didn’t speak to you or the Doctor at all.

You shook your head. “I am never going to get used to this,” you murmured, as you and the Doctor walked past them, side by side. What kind of alien was that, anyway? And what kind of alien was S’rana, more importantly?

“Excuse me—S’rana?” You called. “Can I ask-- what kind of alien are you? What planet are you from?”

S’rana stopped in her tracks.

The Doctor nudged you with his elbow, and gave you a look. “Oi, hush,” he scolded. “That’s a bit rude, you know. You don’t just ask people that.”

S’rana laughed. “It’s quite all right, sir.” She looked at you, and smiled. “I’m Naensrish— from the Naensris Cluster. It’s not a planet, not really, just a bunch of rocks tucked away in a little corner of the Proxima Star System.”

You glanced at the Doctor for a moment, grinned, and then, in some strange surge of bravery, walked a little faster, catching up to S’rana. “That’s cool,” you said, smiling at her. “What’s it like there?”

She looked almost surprised that you asked. “It’s… well, humid,” she admitted, “And hot. Awfully hot.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Oh, I hate the heat.”

She laughed, and her hair wriggled a bit. “Honestly—so do I, that’s why I left! Can’t stand it one bit, my family all thought I was _completely_ mad.” S’rana paused. “And where are you from?”

“Earth,” you said, smiling. “It’s my first big trip. Never been into space before, never even thought about it, and here I am. Standing on a brand new planet. It’s all a bit much.”

There was a pause. It was long. Too long. She had a strange look in her eyes. Something was wrong.

 “You’re from Earth?” S’rana asked quietly. “But—Earth’s gone. It’s been gone for centuries. It was on the news, and everything.”

You stopped.

“She’s from New Earth,” the Doctor said quickly, placing a hand on your back and urging you forward. “Earth, New Earth, same thing.”

“Right, yeah,” you said. Your voice sounded distant.

S’rana visibly relaxed. “Oh, of course. My mistake. Anyway, we’re almost there, so I might as well start explaining—“

_Earth’s gone. It’s been gone for centuries._

You swallowed.

“—And that’s the door to the food court, rec area’s right across from it—“

S’rana was talking. You couldn’t pay attention. Everything—all of it—it was all too much. God, you needed to get out of here.

_Earth’s gone. It’s been gone for centuries._

“And just through here is the lounge area, and you’ll be in room 438, that’s just through that door over there, here are your keys—“

A thin metal card was pressed into your hand as S’rana escorted you through the doorway.

You walked into a lobby. An enormous lobby, with a giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and plush carpet that sunk beneath your feet, and extravagant chairs and glass tables and it was beautiful, and stunning, and  _wrong._  There were aliens, so many of them, all  _different,_ and you realized with an awful sort of certainty that there weren’t any humans, not a single one, and that you were completely and utterly alone.

_Earth’s gone. It’s been gone for centuries._

“I’m sorry,” you said, abruptly, “I have to go. Now. I have to go now.”

You didn’t run. You walked, fast, stumbling over your own feet, twisted your way through the crowds of aliens, nearly knocked over a glass table as you headed for the door on the far side of the room, the one marked with a glowing blue “4”. You fumbled with the doorknob, pushed it open, started down the hallway—423, 424, 425, what was your room number? 438. It was 438.

_Earth’s gone. It’s been gone for centuries._

You found it. Almost at the end of the hall, and you fumbled with the metal key that wasn’t a key, the metal key that was too futuristic, too alien to be real. You pressed it to a panel on the side and watched as it lit up green, as the entire door just  _slid into the ground,_ and you ran inside, heard it close behind you.

You didn’t look around the room. You just headed straight for the bed in the corner, and collapsed on it.

_Earth’s gone. It’s been gone for centuries._

“Oh my god,” you mumbled quietly. “ _Oh my god.”_

“(Name)? Are you in there?” That was the Doctor. He must’ve followed you. His voice was muffled as the door slid open. You didn’t look up. You didn’t even want to. There was a part of you that just wanted to go home.

But then there was another part of you—a much bigger part—that never, ever wanted to leave. That wanted to keep learning, to keep finding all these impossible, incredible things, and that part of you didn’t give a damn about Earth, or the human race, or anything other than seeing all there was to see out there, and learning as much as you could.

And that terrified you.

You sighed.

“What was that about?” the Doctor asked, as he walked into the room, sitting down on the bed next to you with his hands folded neatly in his lap.

You looked at him for a moment.

“I don’t know. Well, I do, it’s just—she said Earth is gone,” you mumbled. “That’s so—“

“Strange?” he supplied helpfully.

“Terrifying.” You looked down at your hands. “What about us? The human race, what happened to us? Are we just—dead? I’m the only one left?”

“No, no, ‘course not,” the Doctor said. “Nope, the human race just keeps on living. Spread out among the stars, a great big intergalactic Empire.”

You lay back on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling, letting out a slow breath. “That’s… good,” you said slowly. “It’s a lot to take in. I guess I got scared, you know? Thinking that everything we did—which, granted, isn’t much compared to you and your fancy time machine, but we did try—but thinking about all of that, just…  _gone._ It’s scary.”

The Doctor lay down too, resting his weight on his elbows. He smiled at you. “It’s never gone,” he said. “Not really. Cause you’ve got me and my fancy time machine,” he teased, “And that means it’s always there. Waiting.”

“Yeah.” You looked at him, and smiled softly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you lay there, in silence, before the Doctor spoke again.

“My planet burned, you know,” he said slowly. “Like the Earth. It’s just rocks and dust, now. It’s gone. And I can’t go back. I can’t ever go back.” He sighed, and put his hands behind his head. “You think it’ll last forever. Everything you’ve built. But nothing really does.”

“What happened?” you asked quietly.

“There was a war, and we lost.” He laughed hollowly. “Well,  _everyone_  lost. They’re all dead now, (Name)— The good and the bad, even the children. Before their time.”

“Except you.”

The Doctor grimaced. “Except me,” he echoed. “And I’m left traveling on my own, cause there’s no one else left.”

You hesitated a moment, and then reached out and took his hand.

“There’s me.”

He looked at you sadly. “It’s dangerous, (Name), and you’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“All the better reason to keep going,” you said bravely, sitting up. “Now, are we going to sit here all day, or are we going to go out there and explore?”

A wide grin slowly spread across the Doctor’s face, and he sat up, too.

“We’re going to go out there and explore,” he declared. “And you, (Name) (Last Name), are going to love every second of it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“He’s got two heads.  _Two.”_

“Yes, I saw. Now, don’t point, it’s rude,” the Doctor said, shoving you forwards a little. “Go on, go say hello. He looks a bit interested in you. I’m sure he won’t bite. Well, I’m not  _sure,_  but—“

“Hold on,” you interrupted, brows creasing, “What do you mean he ‘looks interested in me’? You mean like—“ Your eyes widened, and you flushed. “Oh my god. Can that even happen?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “It’s the year 5-B-486, over five billion years in your future. Yes. It can happen.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s… weird.”

“What, you haven’t wondered why so many aliens look humanoid?” the Doctor asked.

“So you’re saying that we—“ you cringed. “Oh, gross.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you funny little human beings. All bloody well terrified of change, the whole lot of you.”

You were about to respond indignantly, when a crackling sound echoed around the room, and whatever reply you had thought up died in your throat.

 “Attention all guests,” a melodic voice announced, “A meal will be served now in the dining hall. Those with gold passes level two have the option of dining in their suites. Please see an employee if you are unsure of your pass status. Thank you for choosing Tulvirax Gardens Resorts.”

The Doctor grinned at you. “Oh! Dinner,” he said. “Don’t mind if I do.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Okay, so dinner involved a lot of aliens. And by a lot, you meant there were so many that you had actually forgotten the names of half of their species, much less where they came from. And you ended up eating something that was entirely non-human: kiplux, apparently, was a Saxithian delicacy, and according to the Doctor, it was “sort of like a spongy alligator”.  

When you arrived back in your room, there was an hour or so of peace, in which you lay on the big bed and chatted casually with the Doctor while he tortured a lamp with his sonic screwdriver.

And then, because nothing with him is ever normal or remotely sane for long, there was a scream, and a loud crash in the room next door.

The Doctor sat bolt upright, the lamp left half-dissected on the dresser.

“What was that?” You asked.

“No idea. Probably something dangerous.” The Doctor got up, and walked over to the door. He grinned at you. “ _Finally._ Now, are you coming with me?”

You pushed yourself off of the bed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The Doctor took your hand. He raised his screwdriver, pointed it at the door. It opened.

The two of you walked out into the hallway.

There was someone on the other side.

A tall someone, with hair that wriggled and waved on top of her head, and distinctly snake-like features.

“S’rana?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little more complicated in Tulvirax Resorts.

“What are you doing out here?” S’rana whispered urgently. She looked-- shaken,“It’s after hours, you’re not supposed to leave your rooms! The doors should be locked!”

Your brow furrowed.

“Really?” You frowned. “That’s weird. I mean, it’s a resort, not a prison.” You looked at the Doctor. “Or is that just how space hotels work?”

“No, it’s a bit odd.” He frowned, and folded his arms, tapping his sonic screwdriver against his chin. “See, I knew something was wrong. Should’ve trusted my instincts. Last time I was here, this was Human Colony 106993. I’ve never even  _ heard  _ of Tulvirax Resorts. What’d it do, just—pop out of nowhere?”

“No, of course not, it’s been around for nearly three centuries!” S’rana said, indignant. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“’Course you don’t,” the Doctor said dismissively, walking over to the door to the suite next to yours. “You never bothered to ask questions, did you? You heard that scream—ever wonder what that was about?”

S’rana crossed her arms, her hair wriggling and slithering on her head. “Yes, I did! I went and asked the management just a moment ago—“

“And what did they say?” You asked.

S’rana hesitated. “Well—they said that Mr. Karthska—that’s the man who rented the suite, Mr. Karthska—they said that he’d… he’d just checked out. Just a moment ago. There’s nothing to worry about.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. It looked as if he were trying to pour every ounce of exasperation he possessed into that one facial expression. He was sort of succeeding. Not that you’d ever tell him that. “Oh, and you believed them, then?” he said.

“They’re the management, why would they lie?” S’rana asked.

You looked at her. “S’rana, do you remember when Mr. Karthska checked in?” 

“It was just… just yesterday,” S’rana said. “It’s a little strange, guests leaving like that, but it’s not really  _ rare—“ _

“It’s happened before, and you’ve never even asked?” The Doctor said, incredulous, as he aimed his sonic screwdriver at the door, ignoring S’rana’s protests. It buzzed and flashed blue, and the door opened. He looked at you, and raised an eyebrow. “Is that dodgy, or what?” 

“Yeah, just a little.” You followed him into the room.

He paused, and glanced back at S’rana, who was standing in the doorway, tugging fitfully at a loose thread on her sleeve. 

“Well, are you going to stand there all day? Come on!” He said impatiently, gesturing for her to follow.

“God, I am so going to get fired for this,” she mumbled.

The Doctor closed the door behind you.

Overhead, the lights flickered on. 

The suite was set up exactly like yours and the Doctor’s—one giant bed, a bath, a small hot tub (yes, it was  _ that  _ kind of resort) and something that might’ve been a fridge and a freezer stowed away in the corner. It was extravagant. It was spotless.

It was also completely empty.

“Right,” you said. “Okay, so there’s no one here.”

“Yeah, I can see that, thanks,” the Doctor replied absentmindedly. 

“But something definitely happened. Something loud,” you mumbled, more thinking aloud than actually talking. “So it probably happened in the room closest to our suite, which would be—“

“The bath,” he said. “It must’ve been in the bath."

You frowned in his general direction. “Hey, I had that one.”

He flashed a teasing grin. “Better be quicker next time, then.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, as you headed towards the bathroom door, which was still closed. “You could also just pretend to be a little more stupid, you know, just to make me feel better—“

You turned the handle, and stepped inside. The walls were bare, painted a light yellow, and you could see your face in the mirror. Idly, you realized you hadn’t so much as even looked at your own reflection in nearly two days. Time travel and saving the world sort of did that to a person.

“It’s empty,” S’rana said, from behind you. She’d been almost deathly quiet as you and the Doctor searched, and you’d almost forgotten she was there. “I told you. Nothing happened. You were wrong.”

You scrutinized the perfectly white tiled countertop, squinting. And then you sighed. “And here I was hoping for an adventure.”

The Doctor frowned, and walked into the room, casting the blueish light of his sonic screwdriver over the walls. “You’ll get one. I’m never wrong.”

“Hold on,” you said, your brow creasing. There was a feeling, like an itch in your mind, that you just couldn’t place, something you hadn’t really noticed until it was so strong you couldn’t ignore it. “No, there’s something—hold on, can you smell that?” 

You took a step farther into the room, pausing next to the bathtub. There it was again, that nagging feeling in the back of your head—you knew that smell, minty and cool and just a little too strong, you knew it, where did you know it from—

_ “I think that stuff took off a whole layer of skin. I feel all new, and shiny. Minty fresh.” _

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“Doctor,” you said urgently, tugging on his sleeve, “Doctor, I know what it is.”

“What? What is it?” He asked.

“It’s the cleanser, the gel—remember, when we first got here?”

The Doctor froze. 

“But what does that have to do with anything?” S’rana interrupted.

“(Name),” the Doctor said slowly, “What did you say? About your skin, afterwards, what did you say?”

You frowned. Was that important? It must be. “I said—I said it felt like it took some of my skin off. Like an exfoliating cream, or one of those things they advertise on TV, the ones with the acid stuff, salicylic acid or something—“ 

You stopped, and fell dead silent, as you realized just what, exactly, the Doctor was getting at, what he had already figured out. 

Salicylic  _ acid _ . 

It was acid.  

Your mouth was suddenly dry. 

Death by acid. That was not an image you had wanted in your head. Like, ever.

“Oh my god,” S’rana murmured from the doorway, her eyes wide. “You’re saying it’s acid. You raise the concentration and then—“

“And then,” the Doctor said, smiling grimly, “You’re soup.” 

You swallowed. 

The room was very quiet, all of a sudden.

“That’s… morbid,” you managed, suddenly feeling just a little bit unsteady. You leaned against the countertop. “That’s… really, really morbid, and definitely not what I was thinking when I said I wanted an adventure.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” the Doctor replied, kneeling down to examine the bathtub, where the smell was the strongest. “Now—all we’ve got to figure out is how it got in here in the first place. It’s not as if it just rains down from the ceiling.”

“The pipes,” S’rana said, her voice wavering. “It’s—it’s the pipes.”

The Doctor stood up, and looked at her. His expression turned deadly serious. “Did you know about this?” he asked.

S’rana let out a little huff of breath, and shook her head. Her skin, which you swore had been a very vibrant green, now looked almost sickly. “No—no, I swear, I just—the cleaning crew fills the tubs with cleanser after every guest, to get rid of dead skin cells and allergens and things. They send it up through the pipes.”

“All right, so that means it has to come from somewhere,” you mused. “But where?”

The Doctor walked out the door, back into the main room of the suite. He glanced back at S’rana. “Is there anywhere you’re not allowed? A hidden room, a storage closet, anything,” he asked.

She chewed her bottom lip nervously, tugging at the hem of her uniform. “The maintenance room. In the basement, it’s—it’s always locked, nobody has a key except level three workers. I can’t get you in, I’m just level one.”

The Doctor grinned. “Oh, but I’ve already got a key,” he said, tossing his sonic screwdriver up in the air and catching it deftly.

“Right, then, showoff,” you interrupted, nudging him with your shoulder and rolling your eyes. “Let’s get down there, before any other people get liquefied.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Who runs this place, anyway? Who’s in charge?” The Doctor asked, as he poked and prodded and sonic’d at a tangled mess of piping, his brow furrowed in concentration. You couldn’t exactly tell what he was trying to accomplish, but knowing him, it was probably something complicated. 

“I don’t know,” S’rana said.

The Doctor paused what he was doing, and gave her the most long-suffering look he could possibly muster. “Do you even think at all, or what?” he said. 

You frowned. He seemed more agitated than normal. Like there was something else on his mind—something besides acid and people-soup, something that he wasn’t telling anybody.

Or maybe you were imagining it.

S’rana cleared her throat.

“I know the level threes are all one species,” she said. “They’re all the ones with the gray skin, my friend Sylvic said so. He used to do cleaning in the hall near here, and he’d see them coming and going all the time. Does that help?”

“Depends,” the Doctor said, not looking up. “What species are they? No- wait, let me guess. You don’t know.”

You elbowed him gently, and frowned. “Don’t be rude.”

“Actually, I do know,” S’rana said from behind the two of you, her voice betraying her irritation. “They’re native Tulviraxians.”

“That’s impossible,” he said flatly.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s impossible’?” 

The Doctor sighed, and held his sonic screwdriver between his teeth for a moment as he disentangled himself from the mass of pipes. “I mean, that’s impossible. This planet doesn’t have any native life forms. At least, not intelligent enough to do this.” He gestured around the room, at the fancy little dials on the wall, the panels of controls, the rather impressive array of tech covering every surface imaginable, turning the room into one big tangle of wires. “And believe me, I would know.”

“All right, so if those impossible things, whatever they were, were always coming down here, what were they doing?” You asked, nudging a particularly pointy piece of space junk with the toe of your shoe. “It’s not exactly the most comfortable secret hideout.” 

“Fair point,” The Doctor said, brow creasing as he scanned the room. His eyes lit up, and he pointed towards the far side. “See that? Over there. You’ve got every wall in this place, jam packed with buttons and levers and switches. But here—“ he walked over to a corner of the room, pressed his hand up against the smooth concrete. “Not a single one.”

“What is it, a door?” S’rana asked. 

“Oh, I love secret doors,” you said.

The Doctor grinned. “Me too.” He aimed his sonic screwdriver at the wall, and clicked the little button. The blue light at the end flickered and sputtered uselessly. “Oh, come on,” he muttered, tapping it against the concrete uselessly.

“Try turning it off and turning it on again?” you suggested, managing to keep a completely straight face despite the fact that you had just made what was perhaps the worst joke of your entire life.

The Doctor gave you a look. You grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

The sonic screwdriver sputtered one last time, and then it buzzed to life.

The door, like all the other weird doors in this place, didn’t open like an actual door, because this was an alien planet and things functioning normally would be too much to ask for. It sunk into the ground.

Beyond it was a brightly lit hallway, and a spiral staircase leading down.

 


End file.
